Blessings
by pastelic-ori
Summary: The usual delinquent Dean screws up bad this time, running his car into a streetlight. The town has forced him to work community hours at a church to pay for it, much to Dean's dismay. On the job he is visited in the middle of the night by a man named Castiel, an unhappy yet wealthy businessman who claims to be praying for some sort of 'savior' to pick him up from his crappy life.
1. Chapter 1

"Alright, Winchester, time to go." He banged his stick in between the bars of the cage, producing such an annoying clanging noise that the captured awoke with a start.

He glared at the officer. "Jeez, pal, could ya keep is down? I was trying to get some shut-eye." He groaned, and stretched his arms above his head while the officer chattered on about how he should conduct himself better in society, how he is lucky with such a small punishment, how this is his last chance, blah blah blah.

"Oh, but it doesn't end there, Winchester." The officer grinned, and instantly Dean felt a cold fear. No, it didn't end there. He had something else to push on to him.

"By order of the judge, and for the greater good, to repay the damage made to that stoplight you wrecked last night, you'll be doing community work."

Dean gritted his teeth, glaring at the officer. "Woah, hold on, wait a minute! What makes you think I can't pay it?"

He laughed, coldly and without humor. "Please, really? You drive a cab, I bet a busboy has better pay than you do."

The officer opened the cage and released the cuffs off of Dean, the ones they had to use last night to restrain him after he tried to throw a punch in his drunken state. He rubbed his wrists, they stung a bit. Why did he have such a froggy nature when he was intoxicated? The world may never know.

Before he could leave, the sheriff made him sign a paper saying that he would show up at a local church every evening to make up the pay for at least three months, doing janitorial duties. If he tried to skip, or he broke anything else during this time, he would be thrown in prison on account of disorderly conduct.

Not as bad of a job, he thought. Until he got there.

Dean stepped out of the car, he was escorted on his first day by the same officer who threw him in the slammer, and with his smug smile that Dean wanted to punch right out of his face, told him that he didn't want hm to get 'lost' and made sure he knew that he was at the correct church. What an asshole.

"Ready, 'ole buddy?" He laughed, and held the door open for Dean as he grumbled past.

The church was definitely old, he would have to pay special attention to whatever he was cleaning to make sure one of the many expensive candle holders and carved statues didn't topple over.

The stained glass windows rose high, making it look almost like a cathedral. Various holy images were painted and figured into it, making the inside of the church seem to dance with light. A long red carpet held the middle of the aisle as row after row of long wooden benches lined consecutively on the sides.

Dean scowled. This would be a hell of a lot of cleaning.

"Good thing you have a lot of time." Said the officer, as if he almost read Dean's expression, with delight hinted in his voice.

One of the many people at the church came out to meet him, his hair smoothed back and his brown eyes warm and friendly. "Welcome! You must be Dean?"

Dean nodded, but didn't say much else.

"I hear you have offered to help keep our place of worship clean, I am honored." Dean fumed, it was almost like these people refused to accept the fact that he didn't give a fuck and he was only doing this because the law made him. This is why he always hated church, and religion. Made everyone into some kind of peace-seeking circus clowns.

"Well, let's not waste any time." He stated with a smile, though it was almost certain darker intentions lurked behind the expression. The officer left Dean with a sly word of encouragement and a hard-pressed pat on the back. Dean could hardly believe his luck, usually he got out of more serious charges with just a slap on the wrist.

The rest of the day was spent showing Dean the art of perfecting cleaning, which he went alone with without much enthusiasm. Apparently there was a certain technique to polishing brass, what a load of horse shit. The annoying guy came and went as he pleased, and patiently scolded him when he did it wrong, yet never raised his voice which only pissed Dean off even more.

It seemed everyone refered to him with a title, which put as, "Dean the Church Volunteer". He wasn't even volunteering, he was doing this against his will, so he thought the name was a bit stupid. Everything was stupid.

Around the time everybody left, the boy who had first seen him, Jacob was his name, to much of Dean's horror, a biblical name, handed him a key and told him to finish his work every evening and then lock it up after he left. But to leave it open during, so that the church could be used even when all the workers were gone. Also, he had to at least stay until eleven at night, unless someone invited him out.

Dean didn't understand why he had specific instructions about his work, but he agreed to them anyways. He figured they probably had security cameras around, and he didn't want a reason for the church to go tattling to the sheriff's office about how he left early.

After everyone left, Dean rolled up his sleeves, and started working as quickly as possible, hoping that the remainder of time he had to stay, he would catch up on his sleep. The work, sadly enough, took him a lot longer and proved to be more difficult than Jacob described, he almost broke a vase while trying to dust it. In the midst of him cleaning the holy figures, Dean heard the door open at the front of the church, and looked up to see who it was.

A business man, maybe in his late twenties, same age as Dean, entered the church, quietly closed the door behind him, and floated over to one of the benches near the front, and placed his hands together in a tight ball, and rested his head on top of it, placing his elbows on the backside of the bench in front of him. Dean looked at him, confused. The man was praying at ten o'clock at night in a closed church.

He watched while he was cleaning, and made sure he didn't make a sound while doing so. If the guy was drunk, he had no patience to deal with the disorderly and would probably end up back in jail if his temper got in the way. No, he just watched, from afar. The man never moved a muscle, which made Dean a bit freaked out.

It seemed right when the clock striked eleven, he raised himself up from his seat, and left the church without a word. It was time for him to pack up anyways, so Dean finished whatever he was doing and then ran out to see if he could catch the man. He was nowhere to be found.

Utterly confused, Dean asked Jacob the next day about the mysterious man who visited the church, and he replied with a smile. "Ah, yes, him? He is a regular visitor." Something about his tone seemed like he knew something others didn't.

"What's so funny?" Dean scowled at the young man, tired of indirect answers from this jackass.

"He is looking for his savior." And that's all Jacob would say on the matter, not his name, nor why he came in at such a strange hour.

Dean went on with his work, trying to to pay attention to the strange event that occurred every night with the man, seeing that the faster he could get it over the better. But still, the thoughts troubled him. It was something out of a movie almost, a man praying like tradition every night. 'One day his savior might come', Dean thought this over and it sounded like it would make a Blockbuster hit, some sappy religious movie. People ate those up like it actually influences their life somehow.

One night Jacob informed that the power would be out, so he warned that Dean should take extra caution when cleaning because he could fall down the stairs that lead into the basement. Dean wondered why he had to get so specific about things sometimes, the sooner he would never have to see this kid again the better. The little brat annoyed him a lot, with his coy attitude and bright nature.

The only light that decorated the church was that of the moonlight streaming through the stained windows, making the church light up with such intensity and array of rainbows, it was about the only the volunteer enjoyed while working here.

As he down to clean the baseboard for about the hundredth time, it seemed that every time he came back there was another mess for him to clean up, he looked up to see the austere man make his way over and start his nightly ritual of sitting with that pained body expression, like he was about to start crying any moment.

Dean decided to scoot a little closer, since there was no lights that would show him as far away. He finally got a better look at the man, seemed he was into business, he wore a slightly crumpled suit under his long, tan trench coat, his blue tie loosened down and his shirt frayed, like he hadn't ironed it in a few days.

Dean took another step closer, and wasn't watching were he was going, and accidentally knocked over a vase. It crashed and shattered to the floor, the same damn vase that he had troubles with earlier. Shit, he was going to have to pay for that, and not with money.

The man's head lifted as soon as he heard a noise, and he jolted up and grabbed Dean's hand, pulling him closer.

"You must be who I have prayed for." He stated, looking very intently at Dean. His voice was low, had a sort of monotone key about it, like life was a challenge that he had to constantly negotiate through.

Confused beyond belief, Dean numbly shook his head, and mumbled out, "Uh, sorry buddy, you've got the wrong guy, I-"

"I prayed for a guide." The man refused to let go of Dean's hand, he gripped it tighter instead when Dean tried to pull it away. "I prayed for an angel."

The church volunteer squinted at the mysterious man, almost as if he was looking for signs of insanity. "Who are you, anyways?"

The business man's chin pointed a little higher, his blue eyes reflecting the light from the church's window, almost if they were emitting light of their own.

"My name, is Castiel."


	2. Chapter 2

"So, Castiel, you're basically telling me that your life is like the bad climax of a Sandra Bullock movie?" Dean propped his feet up onto the headboard of the bench, leaning back as the man told him his tale.

Castiel held Dean with a blank stare. "What is a 'Sandra Bullock movie'?"

"You don't know who Sandra Bullock is?"

"I don't watch movies."

Dean nodded, though not really understanding. "Ah, alright then." Who the hell doesn't watch movies?

"I'm going to hypothesize that whatever analogy you just made, it was the correct one."

Dean scratched behind his ear. "I still don't see the reason why you need me-"

Castiel turned, his stare turning more intent. "I am positive that I cannot do this alone, so I put my confidence in my lord and asked for my own personal savior." He said it like he was reciting the alphabet, which worried Dean a little.

"Your . . . lord? So, lemme guess, God?"

Castiel scowled. "You say it like you don't believe in him."

Dean swung his feet down, getting up from the chair and stretching out his arms above him. "I just never really had much faith. No reason to. Anyways, I don't think I can help you, considering that I'm not even of that faith."

Castiel instantly stood up with him and stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder. "Please, Dean. I need you."

Seeing his desperate look, his worn out appearance, made the man stop, hesitant. He bit his lip, what if he wasn't the person he was looking for? This all seemed like a big joke.

But, the least he could do was humor him, just to make him happy.

"Alright, whatever. Dean Winchester, at your service."

It was past his shift, so Castiel invited Dean back to his house for the evening. It was about one in the morning, but Dean shrugged his shoulder. Why the hell not? The guy might have some expensive whiskey or something lying around.

As Dean oozed over Castiel's expensive car, Castiel called someone , chatted for a minute, and then abruptly hung up.

"What was that for?"

Castiel started the car, the beautiful machine letting out a seductive purr. "I wanted to call ahead before I brought a guest home." He scowled, and then pretty much floored the gas pedal, which threw Dean forward before he could grip his seatbelt helplessly as Castiel fearlessly drove down through downtown like a maniac.

"Woah, hot damn." Dean whistled at the rich man's house. When did it end? The driveway went on for yards. He didn't notice his friend's grim expression, the way his hand tightened on the wheel, as if to keep agitation under check.

"It's not mine." The business man said simply.

He looked over. "Whaddya mean, it's not yours?" Dean could see him bite the inside of his cheek.

"She wanted this. I would never have wasted so much money on myself."

Dean looked over the expensively manicured gardens lit by the moonlight once more, and thought it puzzling.

"So you let your wife buy whatever she wanted? Takes a lot of balls to allow that, ya know, since she a woman, and, man, do women spend big mon-"

"It's because I love her dearly." He sighed, and his strait posture drooped for a second as he turned the corner. "She was a wonderful woman when I met her. But now . . . "

He didn't need to say anymore, Dean would see soon enough.

Upon entering the house, he was greeted with more dazzling architecture, the whole house having a Classical Greek age look to it. Carved marble columns kept the second story afloat white a pair of white stone stairs led up two, maybe three stories. Dean looked apon it with awe, while Castiel's eye held disgust.

A woman, loosely dressed in a bathrobe, slinked down the stairs, not so much batting an eyelash at her husband, her eyes zeroing in on Dean automatically.

"Ah, Castiel, is this our guest?" Her voice was that of a seductress, dripping with promises of _'sugar and spice and everything nice'_. Dean was feeling a bit flustered already.

"Yes, this is Dean. Dean, Dianne." He boldly stuck out his hand, in which she took it and gave a gentle shake. "Enchanté, Dean." She winked, and he swallowed hard.

"Castiel, I'll be out of the house tomorrow, I'm flying out-of-town for a day." She spoke to him, yet her eyes didn't leave Dean.

"Be sure to have a safe flight." The woman left, yet the encounter felt awkward, like nothing was felt anymore between the married couple. Dean could understand was Castiel was frustrated.

"Well, now since you've met her," Castiel led Dean into a comfortably decorated office, nothing like the rest of the house. Most of the furniture was made of wood and leather, you know, stuff normal people buy, "we should talk things over."

"Really, what kind of things?" Dean took his place on a sofa while Castiel leaned back in his office chair.

"Well, considering you are my saviour, how about you stay with me for the week?"

"Woah, wait, what?" Dean waved it off. "Where did this come from?"

Castiel played with a pen on his desk, giving his guest a long sidelong glance. "I want to accommodate my gift from the lord, don't I?"

"It's not just that, is it." Dean returned the glance with a scowl.

"I also . . . I am afraid of what would happen. What would happen if you aren't there."

Dean could hardly believe this guy! He was speaking of him like he was some kind of protector. Was this for real? Castiel seemed absolutely serious, but Dean was quite sure no sane person would put this much trust into someone blindly.

"So you want me to bunk with you for a while." He concluded.

"Yes. That would be the point."

"What if I was a thief?" Dean inquired. "What if I was some rotten crook who would murder you and your whole family in their sleep and made of with your fortunes?"

Castiel placed the pen gently down on his desk, and swung his chair to face Dean. "I'm sure that my Lord sent me the right person, or no person at all. And there is really nothing more to say on the matter. You like scotch?"

Dean chuckled. "Hell yeah I like scotch, I'm not going to pass up a free drink."

Castiel only smiled.

Turns out Dean had a little too much to drink, it was clear when Castiel had to haul his friend up to one of the guest bedrooms and help him on to the bed. But before he could go, Dean grabbed his roughly around the collar of his coat and pulled him down to his level.

"Hey, Cas, you know, Imma not a very good person." Castiel frowned at the smell of Dean's breath and his new nickname.

"I got a brother, you know. And I love him, a lot." Dean sighed. "But he's so smart and clever and I love him a lot and I wasn't a good person and I failed him. I failed him as a brother." The grip melted into a hug as Dean's arms wound around his friend and he squeezed, hard.

"I mean look at ya, Cas. You're a good person, I just don't know why," Castiel could hear a sniffle as the drunk's tears spilled on his coat. "Why do good things gotta happen to good people? I tried to be a good person, but then my bro doesn't love me, and then you're a good person and you have a crappy life."

'Cas' actually felt a bit sorry for Dean, and patted him on the back while he cried. "Oh Dean, why did I let you drink so much?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Ugh, why did you let me drink last night?" Dean let out a groan as he splashed water onto his face, he dragged himself out of bed this morning as Castiel watched with what looked like a smug grin. "It feels like a train just hit me."

Castiel was standing in the door way, and handed him a towel off the rack. "It wasn't my fault, you practically attacked me for the bottle after a few glasses."

"I thought you would be a better host than that."

"A host only obeys the wishes of his guest." He crossed his arms as Dean rubbed the towel over his face and pulled back on his boots.

"God damn, it's already ten?" He got up, stretched, and walked past Castiel out the door. "If I'm going to be staying with you, I gotta go get my stuff."

"Oh, there's no need. I'll be taking care of that today."

He looked back, arching an eyebrow.

"I'll buy all your clothes for you, being a good host is what I do best after all."

"Woah, okay, so you're saying that you are gonna just gonna buy me a whole new wardrobe?"

Castiel looked at him like it was the only option. "Why of course, your rugged look could use something new. Seriously, I'm not sure how you do it." He instead left the room, leaving Dean to follow, confused. "How does your delinquent look not attract the attention of others? Any person with common sense would think you were up to no good." He eyed the laced up boots, denim, and leather jacket that gave him the appearance of a biker gang member.

"Hey, whatever man, just no monkey suits."

Dean actually made away with a pretty good score while Castiel was on a phone for most of the day, he hardly questioned what Dean bought, and didn't show one ounce of alarm when his bill came up to a few thousand dollars. This guy might not be so bad after all.

"So, that's it? What exactly do you want me to do?" Dean propped his feet up on the dashboard of the car as Castiel drove them home. "It's not like God gave me any specific instructions, or heads up for that matter."

"You are here to help me. How, or when, we do not know. The lord acts in mysterious ways." Dean's rolled his eyes at the comment. Here he was gonna go on the 'mysterious lord' bullshit again.

"Alright, so tell me about the problem. What is your wife like?" Dean already pretty much knew what his wife was like, but seeing how she was the source of trouble, he might as well get a better insight.

Castiel got the wistful look again, the same expression when he talked of the past. "I met her when I was in college, she was so . . . . . open. Nothing in the world could hide from her, and she would hide nothing from it."

Dean, listened on, while picking at his fingernails. "So when did this change?"

"When we got the money. When her family started dying off."

"Dying?"

"Cancer ran rampant through her family, she was blessed, but others were not. Her family didn't like her much anyways, and when I began earning more, she showered her riches in their faces. When they died, I think she enjoyed it." He swallowed. "So then after that, she began wanting to enjoy the 'finer things in life', and starting splurging it on everything. She had no need for me anymore, she had rich friends, parties, whatever she wanted at her fingertips."

"Man, that's deep."

"But I _love_ her, so much. When we met, she was the woman of my dreams. So bright, so charismatic, so charming." His face mirrored that of a mourning man. "And no doubt that she doesn't feel the same anymore."

Dean gave his sympathies, but he still had no idea how he would help him. He was no psychologist, maybe the guy just needed marriage counselling.

Yet it turned out to be much more worse than that.

Castiel was called into work, so he let Dean have the run of the house after their little shopping trip. It was later into the evening, and Dean snooped around the house for something to drink. He settled on the the bottles of purified water in the refrigerator, which tasted funny to one who couldn't afford it on a daily basis.

After he choked down most of it, he looked over the living room, it's expensive carpet, large television, and brightly light fish tanks with a bunch of colourful aquatic life floating around. If this guy had so much money, how did he not ever hear of him? He took another swig of the water, he didn't read the news much anyways.

Dean heard a car door slam, and moved to the window to draw back the curtain. Dianne was being handed her suitcase by the driver, and he thought nothing of it until another came out of a the car, a well-dressed man, and kissed her on the lips before she waved farewell and walked up to the house.

Dean quickly moved away from the window, seated himself on the couch and tried to act innocent as she walked in, spying him in the living room. The woman seated herself next to him, a little close for comfort. "Why, hello Dean."

He nodded and smiled, but his heart was pounding. Why was he scared of this woman? Something about her seemed off.

She played with a curl of her hair, letting out a little girly chuckle, and chatted with Dean about his day.

"Ah, yeah, Cas bought me clothes."

"Cas?" As if the mention of her husband made her wary, her composure slipped for a moment to a frown before her façade smile took it's place one more. "Yes, he is quite charitable, I'm sure he likes you a lot, it seems."

"Well, I better be off, I have something I need to-" Dean was getting up when the woman pulled him back down again, cupping her hands around his face and moving in for a kiss. "Oh, wait, I have something for you." She breathed against his face.

Dean froze as he felt her lips, and instantly shivered and drew back, having much more self control than she.

"Alright, lady, I don't think that your husband would really appreciate that." He scooted back, some how her embrace only made Dean scared for his life, like being trapped in a corner like an animal. She had him pinned down.

"Why do you care about him? He would never know . . . "

"He loves you, you know." His voice was hoarse as he squirmed under her grasp. Was there a non-awkward way to get out from under a woman? "I don't think this is fair to him."

Dianne moved her fingers down his chest, and she was sitting close enough that he could smell her skin, the fruity notes that tempted so many other men. "I'm sorry Dean, You are just so . . " She bit her lip, those beautiful plush lips. "Enticing."

Dean just about had enough, he feared his would lose it.

He was pretty much at the end of the couch now, so he swung out and made a B-Line towards the door, grabbing his coat on the way. "S-sorry!" He called back, and slammed the door shut as he ran out of the yard and away from the house.


End file.
